


But this time consciously

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [31]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Affection, Awkward Alistair (Dragon Age), Awkward Flirting, Camp, Darkspawn, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Protective Sten, Relationship Advice, Slow Romance, Travel, Trifling cheese-male, Warden Powers, Warden senses, glacially slow, mabari pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19317940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: After the Worst First Kiss EverTM, Caitwyn and Alistair try to reestablish their relationship.  Only problem: The whole crew knows what's going on.  It's never easy to try to have relationship under the watchful eyes of people with not much else to do besides walk through the countryside.





	But this time consciously

Where to go?

Caitwyn was not certain.  

It was all laid bare, or all the parts that still mattered, and not even her family knew it all.  Mama had known, but Mama had taken her daughter’s secret to her pyre. It wasn’t as though the bleeding truth at the heart of her changed anything.  The world she woke up to was the same as the one she closed her eyes on last night. The chill of winter’s encroaching fingers wound through the trees and lent a bitterness to the crisp air.  Dry, dying leaves rustled over head and were shaken loose. There were still darkspawn and cruel nobles and her family still waiting for her. Maethor still whined to be fed and tents still had to be packed away.

“Cait?  Hey, Cait?”

And yet, the world around her no longer closed in on her as if to crush her, no longer pressed at the very edges of her with pressure enough to make her crack.  

“Caaaaaaaait.”  Alistair’s overdramatic whine broke through the temporary fog in her mind, and she blinked up at him.  The crooked smile he gave her made his eyes crinkle and an echo of his smile curved her lips. “There you are.”

“Sorry, woolgathering,” she demurred.  Heat ran up her cheeks and ears, which had the benefit of driving away the nip of autumn’s chill.  

“It’s alright.  Just wanted to know where we were headed first since I’m helping you scout today.  Being prepared and all that… you know, important stuff.” He hiked his pack up higher on his back and rocked back on his heels, ready to be off.  The morning’s chill made their breath steam in the air, but the sun rose clear and bright with the promise of a fine day.

“Right, yes.”  She cleared her throat.  “Well, right now it’s just south, though we might make a stop over in Redcliffe.  Haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh, well, if I get a say—”

“Surely we must go to Redcliffe, yes?”  Zevran appeared as if from nowhere, a too-innocent expression on his face.  “Good food, plentiful drink, and most importantly warm, soft beds.” The attempt at guilelessness evaporated with a smirk and a glint in knowing brown eyes.

The fact that reacting only encouraged Zevran couldn’t prevent her from her gaze shifting to the safety of the trees in their autumn finery or the warming of her cheeks.

“That’s not!”  Alistair’s high-voiced attempt at protest was cut off by an airy wave from the Crow.

“For myself, my friends.  What _you_ wish to go to Redcliffe for, ah, I would never _dream_ of asking.”

“Zevran, leave them be,” Leliana scolded before pursing her lips thoughtfully in the Wardens’ direction.  “I am certain they have much to discuss. As Wardens.”

Caitwyn scratched her nose instead of scrunching up her face at the second intrusion.  She was supposed to be scouting with Alistair. If the others read more into it, she couldn’t stop them.  She hated that they were right, though, if not for the reasons they thought. Learning to simply be near him again was its own task, never mind anything else.

“We’re headed south.  You both know the trail makers I leave, right?  Good.” Not deigning to wait for a reply, Caitwyn strode south out of camp.

“Right behind you!” Alistair called as he followed her with a clatter of armor.  His long legs ate up the distance she’d put between herself and well-meaning but nosy people.  Puffing as he drew even with her, feet shuffling in the dead leaves, he glanced down at her with a sickly grin.  “Well, uh. That was… awkward.”  
  
Bow held low, she plucked the string, testing the tension.  

“Anyway, where are we headed?  Not that I think we should go anywhere for, um, any kind of _reason_.  Just trying want to know what to do.  Never helped scout before and all,” he rambled and wound down with an awkward laugh.  Tilting her head she considered his hopeful yet hesitant smile, the caution with which he approached her without making her feel like he was waiting for her to break down.

“You were going to say something before Zevran interrupted.”  

“Oh, well.  That’s not, I mean.  You don’t have to listen to me.”

“We’ve been over this before.  I do want to know what you think.  Besides, if _I_ have to say things, I think that means you do, too.”  To say when she was upset, to talk to him rather than hide from him.  She hadn’t been tested yet on that score, but he was already evading her.  Whether it was his usual habit or in deference to her, she didn’t know. She didn’t think it mattered.

“I suppose that’s fair.”  He huffed and shrugged, already downplaying what he was to say.  “I do think we should stop in at Redcliffe. I’d like to check in on Arl Eamon, and we could all use a rest and resupply.  We left Orzammar rather… quickly. Didn’t stay long near Kinloch either, just long enough for you to drop off that letter. So, I’m for Redcliffe, if it matters.”

“It matters,” she said softly.  He perked up, surprise and cautious delight in his crooked smile.  “And for what it’s worth, I was thinking along the same lines.”

“Ah-ha!  We agree!  Wardens working together and all.  Excellent, very good. To Redcliffe, then!”  His cheer was a bit brighter than she thought necessary, but it buoyed her up all the same.  It made her smile in spite of herself, and for the space of a heartbeat in the privacy of the forest by Lake Calenhad they smiled at each other like a pair of idiots, neither of them caring what anyone would think.

Maybe she didn’t know where they were going, but at least they were going there together.  

Now if only everyone would stop being so interested in what other people were doing.  Or not doing.

 

* * *

 

Alistair busied himself chopping potatoes like Leliana had asked him to.  It wasn’t his turn to cook, though he did notice that other people cooked more often than he did even if they made him clean and chop things up more.  That was fine by him; he didn’t care for his cooking either.

Potatoes done, he moved on to the carrots when Zevran sauntered over and sank down to next to the fire and held his hands out to warm them.  Caitwyn passed them by with a little wave, the two elves training more and more lately. Together. He didn’t mind that, either, if it helped Caitwyn.  Didn’t mind at all. He returned her wave and watched her duck into her tent. Probably to clean up a little, and his mind fizzed and whirled in a direction it really _shouldn’t_.

“Alistair!” Leliana exclaimed.  He tensed and braced for a fight at her cry, but he couldn’t sense any darkspawn nearby and no one else drew their weapons.  “Your hand!”

Blood welled from a long, deep cut on his finger, and he hissed as the burn of it finally registered.  He cradled his hand to his chest, and Leliana was already wrapping a clean cloth around it. “Ah-ha, clumsy me.  Sorry about the carrot there. Think that’s a loss.”

“Don’t worry about the carrot,” Leliana said dismissively.  “Are you well, Alistair? You are no cook, but you are usually a fair hand with a knife.”

“Indeed, my friend, you were rather distracted for a moment.  Is there something on your mind? Does something trouble you? Come now, unburden yourself,” Zevran exhorted.  The Antivan’s voice sounded sincere, but the glance over his shoulder toward Caitwyn’s tent and smirk told Alistair otherwise.

“Zevran,” Leliana admonished.  The elf acknowledged the rebuke with a wave of his hand.  “Finish the rest of this, and I’ll make sure Alistair gets to Wynne.”

“Very well, my dear bard,” Zevran agreed, setting to the work of cutting vegetables with a deftness that was likely due to his skill with blades in general.  “You should go with her, Alistair, and perhaps ask her questions about, hm, proper preparation technique.”

“Um, what?”

“Do not mind him, Alistair.  Quickly, before Wynne scolds us both for taking too long.”

He allowed himself to be led to where Wynne set up, a torn shirt draped over her lap.  It was a matter of moments, getting healed up, and he flexed his fingers against the tightness of the repaired skin.  

“Next time, Alistair, keep your mind on what you’re doing.  Trust me, a little care and attention goes along way,” Wynne told him sagely.  There was something in her tone that he didn’t trust, and he narrowed his eyes at the old woman.  She’d been teasing him a lot lately, but this time seemed innocent enough.

Or did until Leliana spoke.  “I agree. You should have more care what you do with your hands.  Hands are… important.”

“Uh,” was all he could manage as his cheeks suddenly burned with embarrassment.  His whole face, his ears, his neck. Oh Maker, why was this happening? No, he knew why.  Standing, he sidled away from two pairs of glimmering blue eyes. “I’ll just, go over there, and think about, um.   Hands. Nope, not that.”

Then he fled, chased by a high giggle and a knowing chuckle.  His face was going to be on fire for days after this. He just knew it.  And that made it even worse.

 

* * *

 

“I have observed that you and the other Warden spend a good deal of time gathering firewood.  I was not aware that this was a difficult task.” Shale’s white, glowing eyes bored into Caitwyn, the golem’s face a literal stone mask.

“Sweet Maker Shale, not you, too.”  There had been far, far too much inquiry on the road to Redcliffe.  Leliana and Zevran were bad enough, if expected, but even Wynne had gotten in on the act.  Teasing Alistair every chance she got like the worst sort of aunt the Alienage had to offer.

“Not I what?  If you are lamenting the fact that I am making a personal inquiry, especially after you have encouraged me to be more… _personable_ , it seems rather ungrateful of you.  I was expression simple concern, nothing more.”

“Oh.  Thank you, Shale, but no, it’s not that difficult a task.”

“Then why does it take so much more time?  I do not eat, but the others surely wish to eat their evening meal at a reasonable hour.”

Caitwyn narrowed her eyes at the golem’s still impassive face.  

“Unless you have a reason other than firewood to stay away from camp.”  Somehow the golem’s expression was sardonic, even though its features barely shifted.  The smug tilt of her chin and slightly wider mouth, glowing brilliant white in the autumn dusk, was eerily reminiscent of Zevran.

“You been talking to Zevran or Leliana?” she asked sharply.  Shale raised one brow, and Caitwyn had no idea why a golem had such expressive eyebrows.  What battle function would that serve? Maybe it was something Willem did, and if so the mage had gotten what he deserved.

“The painted elf and the sister both continue to chatter at me, but they do not speak about you with me.  Why do you ask?”

“Never mind.”

“Very well.  I shall pay no mind to your protracted absences.  Surely you have a valid reason for them.”

It took all that Caitwyn had not to throw up her hands and yell in frustration.  Swallowing her growing irritation with people who couldn’t mind their own business, she didn't reply.  Replying only made it worse.

But at her silence, Shale’s smile grew wider and a rumbling laugh like a landslide boomed from the golem.  No, she had been wrong. _This_ was worse.

 

* * *

 

“Alistair,” Sten intoned.  Not sure why the qunari was approaching him, but seeing no reason not to talk to him, he petered out to a halt and waited for Sten to draw even with him.  The giant didn’t trot to catch up, oh no, that would’ve been too much to ask.

“What can I do for you, Sten?”  He tried for a cheery tone, and it wasn’t hard to achieve.  The villagers of Redcliffe were doing well, Teagan acting in Arl Eamon’s stead and doing all that was important for village life to go on.  Even if the arl himself was still stricken, he hadn’t worsened in their time away. That was all Alistair could ask.

“I do not think there is anything you can do for me.  No, I wish to speak to you about something that is… important.”

“Of course, though you don’t normally talk to _me_ about these things.  Don’t you normally talk to Cait?”

“It is Caitwyn about whom I wish to speak.”

“Oh.”  That couldn’t be good.  Violet eyes regarded him without any hint of disposition from underneath heavy grey brows.  Aside from Sten’s very nature, being close to him was always a little unnerving. Maybe it was that Sten out-weighed and overtopped him, which few people did.  That was probably it.

“Caitwyn has done much to earn my respect.”

“Yup, got you your special sword back and everything.  Very good of her. Just her way, isn’t?”

Mouth thinned to nearly nothing, Sten glowered at him.  Alistair wished he hadn’t brought up the sword. It wasn’t just that Sten was touchy about it; he was currently carrying it.  Wouldn’t put it _down_ in fact.

“She is kadan to me, which I do not expect you to understand, as I do not understand why she spends so much time with you.  Regardless, I would take a dim view of anyone who caused her harm.”

“You’re threatening me!”  He couldn’t help how his voice rose with startled indignation.  Some part of him could approve of someone caring about Cait enough to threaten him over her.  Well, someone not Morrigan. But this was _Sten_ , not Cait’s father or anything like that.  At the very thought of Cait’s father, however, his brain conjured up nightmare scenarios of an older elf driving him away from his precious and only daughter.

“No.  I am informing you of facts,” Sten said, breaking into his wild thoughts.  The qunari graced him with a wry expression, which was another shock in a conversation of shocks.  “Good day, Alistair, think on what I said.”

He could only gape at the other man’s retreating back.  The life of Redcliffe village went on around him, completely unconcerned about oblique qunari threats.  It was all terribly unfair.

 

* * *

 

“We understand why you must go, but I am glad you recovered here with us.  We are indebted to you for so much, for...” Isolde trailed off as her gaze sought out her son.  Connor sat curled up in a plush chair in the library, and he waved shyly at her. Caitwyn wiggled her fingers back at him, gratified to see him doing so well.  And allowed to stay with his mother until the Circle was better recovered.

“And we’re grateful for always being welcome, Lady Isolde.”  Caitwyn dipped her head, though she didn’t bow. There were perks to being a Warden, and not having to bow to every noble was certainly one of her favorites.  

“Come, I shall walk you to the gate.”  Teagan gestured for her to accompany him, and she fell into step beside him.  As they walked through the castle, knights bowed hand to heart as she passed by, and the servants paid their respects as well.  She managed to keep a polite smile on her face, even as the entire spectacle made her feet itch to flee.

None too soon, they emerged from the castle proper and crossed the courtyard.  Caitwyn’s grin widened and her heart lifted to see Alistair—to see everyone—waiting at the end of the bridge for her.  Teagan came to an abrupt halt, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier about to deliver unpleasant news. There were too many options to consider, not least of which was the possibility that Arl Eamon’s condition was worse than they all thought.

“Warden Tabris, Caitwyn if I may?”  His subdued tone plucked at her worries, but she gave him a nod.  “Caitwyn, know I say this as someone who respects you a great deal not just as someone who saved the arling, but as a person as well.  I must warn you that should, no _when_ , my brother is once again awake he will not care for how close you are to Alistair.”  

Her teeth clicked together, and she almost bit her tongue.  Chest tight as if in a vice, she tried to think of a time when they had been too close, lingered a little too long in each other’s company while in the village.  They hadn’t. She was sure of that.

Teagan grinned, something like commiseration on his face.

“Alistair’s face gave him away, if that’s your concern.  I was always fond of him as a boy, and he’s grown to be a good man, but Eamon was always… proprietary about him.  Even after he sent him away. Have a care, Caitwyn. Rare is the chance for happiness in this world, as I well know.”

“I… thank you,” she said through a tight throat.  Coughing to clear it, she squared her shoulders and regarded him anew.  There was no guile in his face, though a story of his own shadowed his eyes.  A life he couldn’t live, a happiness he couldn’t have. She recalled Teagan had _come back_ to Redcliffe at his brother’s insistence.  What had he left behind she wondered? “Thank you Teagan.”

“You are more than welcome, Caitwyn,” he said as he sketched another bow.  “Now, I believe I have kept you long enough, Warden Tabris. As ever, you will always be welcome in Redcliffe.”

“Farewell, Bann Teagan, and you have our thanks again,” she replied, switching back to their formal roles.  Crossing the bridge to where everyone waited, Caitwyn reconciled herself to the fact that _yet another_ person was aware that she and Alistair were… something to each other.  At least Teagan had been trying to help in a real way, to point out a possible pitfall rather than offer unsolicited and unhelpful advice.

Though that had begun to die down.

Alistair grinned at her approach, but Maethor broke from his side and capered about her with canine enthusiasm.  She laughed, easy and free, putting away the possible threat that Eamon posed. That was the future. Right now she had her dog and Alistair and a bright, crisp autumn day to keep her spirits high.

“You took your sweet time with that noble fella, Warden,” Oghren mused.  He scratched his bright red whiskers thoughtfully. “Watch out boy, you might have competition for her blankets.”

Caitwyn choked back her indignation and cursed herself for thinking that it was over.

By the bemused expressions of everyone but Alistair, it would _never_ be over.

 

* * *

 

It was all worth it.  All the smirks and knowing looks and glances and _threats_ , all worth it to have time all to himself with her.  

Under the mostly bare branches of the trees that arched overhead like clasping hands, Caitwyn walked beside him.  No walking wasn’t the right word, but he couldn’t pick one word to describe how she moved with the land, foot always in the right place and grace in every line of her while he clomped along like a clumsy giant.  Even though she’d grown up in Denerim, hemmed in by walls and dirty streets, watching her move through wild places made him smile because it was like she’d always belonged out here. Like she didn’t have to make herself so small to fit her surroundings.  Here, she could be as big as the sky.

“Alistair, while I appreciate the fact that you think I’m pretty, we _are_ supposed to be scouting.”  Her lilting voice danced over her words like always, and it took him a moment to gather his wits.  Such as they were. Shaking his head, he offered her a sheepish grin for being caught gazing at her.  Again.

“Right, yes.  Scouting. We are together and scouting, very important.”  Shifting his shoulders under the weight of his armor, he double checked that his sword had a clear draw and his shield was at the ready.  Ostensibly he was with her, unsneaky clomping and all, because she wanted sturdier backup as they headed south to Ostagar again.

They both knew that was only half true.  

His grin grew wider, which made her roll her eyes.  Anyone else would have actually been exasperated at him, but her mouth quirked up at the corners with the barest hint of dimples and her summer-green eyes glimmered with amusement.  It was like a game, almost. Him playing up being the fool, her pretending to find it tiresome; a back and forth that obscured the still-raw hurt that sat the heart of her.

The hurt he’d give anything to heal, but all he had were—

Cait froze in mid-step, like a fox hearing the baying of angry hounds, and not a moment later the thick stench of rotten meat filled his nose making his stomach clench.  The wind came from the north, but the rot wafted up from the south. A shudder gripped Cait—she felt them on her skin, she’d told him—but that didn’t stop her from using her sense of the darkspawn.  Tilting one ear then the other, she swung her head to the south and east before catching his eye.

She signaled for him to back further into the trees, and he did so as quickly as he could.  Which was still an awful racket. Back pressed to the wide trunk of a looming oak, he kept his shoulders relaxed and his hand on the hilt of his sword.  Without a sound, she headed into the trees. It was smart, he knew, for her to get a look at the darkspawn rather than both of them charge in. That didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth while she was in danger and all he could do was wait.

He focused on his sense of her, the scent of cool, clean spring water that carried the hint of lilac, and told himself that as long as he could sense her it would be alright.  She was smart, and her close calls only made her even better.

The leather of his gauntlet creaked on the leather-bound hilt of his sword, and he had to remind himself to breathe.  If she did run into trouble, he’d be no use if he was passed out.

Guttural, snarling voices drifted from the direction Cait headed.  They were coming closer, the rotten meat odor gaining a pungency that would’ve unsettled his stomach if he hadn’t been through the Deep Roads.  Breathing in through his mouth, he half-drew his sword only for a hand to clamp down on his arm. Tensing, he nearly drew his sword entirely but a whisper stopped him, “It’s me.”

He glanced down into Cait’s upturned face, the fresh-water-and-lilac sense of her ablating the encroaching darkspawn, and he exhaled shakily.  She pressed close to him, the metal of their armor clinking together, but that didn’t stop the fact that only a few layers were between them. Just a bit of metal and some leather and wool.  It struck him again how _small_ she was.  She didn’t even come up to his chin, barely reaching his shoulder even, and he knew he’d have no trouble wrapping his arms around her.  

Oh Maker, what was wrong with him.  Darkspawn were passing just on the other side the tree, and no matter how wide and solid a tree was that was no guarantee two Wardens would go unnoticed.  Fleeing Ostagar had been difficult for that very reason and now months later, they’d be even easier to sense.

Caitwyn’s eyes weren’t focused on him, however.  Instead she stared into some middle distance, past him but before the horizon, and he had the sense of something _folding_ around his awareness of the darkspawn.  He blinked. She could do that? Sweat broke out on her forehead, and he pressed her hand between his own.  He had no idea what she was doing, and he didn’t know if he could help, but he had to try.

She nodded, though not at him precisely, but he got the impression he’d done right thing all the same.  This made him wonder what _he_ could do.  Any other tricks he might have.  Hiding wasn’t his forte, but she said he felt like a warm hearth to her, like the sun.  That he burned away the darkness around him, the darkness on her. Or so she said. Maybe he could do something with that.  

The darkspawn grunted and snarled as they shuffled through the dead leaves and underbrush.  Not a one paused to sniff at the air, and before long they were moving on. They kept on in the direction they were headed, mostly west instead of north, though Cait would still probably want to circle back to the others to warn them.  When the darkspawn were past his Warden senses, Cait’s head fell forward against his chest. Or his breastplate rather.

“Hey,” he whispered.  His fingers curled against his palm, not sure if he could touch her.  She was so close, _Maker_ she was so close.  The tapered tips of her ears pointed up to the sky, and even if her hair was cut short, it still curled far too invitingly.  Maybe even more so now. Pushing down all those very unhelpful thoughts, he tapped her shoulder lightly. “You alright?”

“Yeah, that just took a bit out of me.”  She spoke without lifting her head and then chuckled nervously.  “Didn’t know if it would work. Didn’t in the Deep Roads.”

“What?  You… tried something that you knew _didn’t work_ ?  Cait!” he shouted, startling some birds from their perches.  She was a brilliant woman, puzzling out all sorts of things he never could, but sometimes her cleverness was a bit… unpredictable.  Oh _she_ thought she was being perfectly logical, but traps did not discriminate.

“Quiet,” she hissed, raising her head.  “They aren’t all gone. Just the closest ones.  Look, it was that or fight them, and I swear others can tell when a group of them get taken out.  I had a hunch that they were stronger in the Deep Roads. Closer to the archdemon and all. Nothing to be lost by trying either way.”

“I suppose you’re right, but _still_.  Can you have nerves after something’s over?  Because I am.” Her lips, chapped by the cold winds but still captivating, curved up into a smile.  An idiotic smile of his own answered hers.

“I won’t tell the others if you don’t.”  Her voice was still hushed, and pitched low, and it gave an entirely _different_ sort of meaning to her words.  One he was pretty sure she didn’t intend, but it made him once again far too aware of how close she was, how she would fill his world if he wasn’t careful.

“Deal,” he said, not trusting himself to say more.  With an effort of will he didn’t try to hold her close, but he took heart that she didn’t seem discomforted by his proximity.  Which was the whole point of these forays together in the first place.

“We better circle back, warn the others just in case.”  She peered into the distance, after the darkspawn or back to where the others were, either was likely.  

“Hm, I suppose.  Poor form to let them get attacked,” he mused.  The comment elicited an amused huff from her, which was what he was hoping for.  

“That would defeat the purpose of scouting,” she agreed, voice as dry as a desert.  

“Backwards, then!” he declared, and that earned him a full throated chuckle.  She shook her head and shoved his shoulder playfully, like she had done before the Deep Roads.  Before the scabbed over wounds of her past had been scraped raw. All he had were paltry jokes and his whole heart to offer her; it wasn’t much, but she seemed to think it was more than enough.  The rest, he knew, could wait.

For her, it wasn’t really waiting at all.  

 

* * *

 

Maethor raised his head, nose twitching as he caught the scent of Master.  He wuffed and surged forward to meet her. Circling her a few times, he sniffed her.  No blood anywhere on her, he caught another scent.

The Cheese-male.  The Cheese-male’s scent was close to Master’s most days and today was no different.  

“Hey boy, you protected everyone didn’t you?” Master cooed at him as she scratched his ears.  She was the best Master, and she knew just where to scratch. Leaning against her, he grumbled happily.

“Ah, a girl and her war dog.  Nothing sweeter,” Cheese-male said.  Maethor liked the Cheese-male; he was fun to play bad-dog-give-that-back with and snuck him extra meat at food time.  But the mixing of scents was something Maethor knew about.

Still, Master and Cheese-male circled each other like unsure puppies when their scents told him what they wanted to do was _make_ puppies.  He didn’t know why Master and her male were still playing, but that was the way of two-legged people.  They always made the simple not-simple.

He was sure Master new best.  She was smart and good and the best two-leg person a Mabari could have.  The Cheese-male made her happy, and Maethor knew good boys made their Masters happy.  So if she wanted the Cheese-male, Maethor would allow it.


End file.
